What doesn't kill us
by Katherine NotGreat
Summary: TRANSLATION from Russian of my non-English -speaking "friend and partner"' Jarthur's 's old one-shot. Les Miserables - 1978 AU. Health issues preventing Javert from commiting suicide, the inspector still has an unfinished business and vital questions that only one person can answer ...Warning: Perkins! Javert


At first he waited for those impressions to dull, to lose that sharp poignancy, to get covered by dust or sand, like a stone thrown in a pond, but all in vain: either because of his memory or rather, his conscience, that fateful day continued to roll before his eyes like a piece of parchment. "My world has fallen to pieces", he would say if he had a habit of expressing himself in a poetic way. " I lost myself", he'd add if he thought it to be of any importance to anyone.

Resignation due to health issues at first seemed to be a good way out; by all means, he was no longer young and was inevitably supposed to finish his career; although there was always a chance to not to live up to retirement, fallen by means of either knife or bullet while fullfiling his duty.

Perhaps it would have been better for everyone, he thought.

In the evenings he had now a habit of walking along the Seine riverside, and often stood on the bridge, looking down for a long time, lost in thought. There , underneath, was also a way out – sort of – but Javert no longer considered it. He still had an unfinished business in this world.

Now he was even glad that night a sudden heart attack had prevented him from carrying out his plan. There was a sharp pain behind the ribs, making him blind for a second, and frozen in shock, afraid to breathe and feeling cold sweat dripping from his forehead. Javert had almost never been ill, never even catching cold, and this sudden attack and a tremendous fatigue that followed it caught him unawares. The doctor, summoned by his colleagues, explained him that he had had a narrow escape; usually people died from attacks like that before they could even say "Jack Robinson". The optimistic physician persuaded Javert that, should another attack happen during the same year, it would be surely fatal. To avoid it, the patient should rest more, make long walks and put aside bad thoughts and impressions. Just like that. So, Javert thought, it was high time to settle his unfinished business…

A visit to the Rue d'Homme Arme was a necessary thing to do, because it was only Valjean who could give an answer to the question that troubled him. Javert felt he_ must _learn the true motive behind Valjean's actions. But he continued to postpone the visit, afraid of being misunderstood. "He'll just think I have gone mad", Javert said to himself and again and again turned down from the road, having nearly reached the house. In his heart he was aware that it was not the future conversation itself that he dreaded, but meeting Jean Valjean in person. How he could look into the eyes of the man whose life he had considerably shortened, especially if the aforesaid man aftewards saved _his own_ life?!

But the Fate, which has been bringing those two people together during decades, evidently got tired of waiting.

Once, when Javert was standing, as usual, on the bridge looking into the deep waters below,he felt someone's penetrating glance on his back. Turning around, he saw Valjean, who gave him a calm nod, and showed neither surprise not hostility towards Javert.

The former inspector wanted to come closer, but, all of a sudden, felt the familiar sharp needle-like prick in the chest. Least of all he wanted to pass out in front of the former convict. Meanwhile, the man in question approached Javert and quietly stood nearby, leaning on the bridge railing. It was better this way, Javert thought, to ask his question without having to look into the eyes of his opponent. Slowly, cautiously he inhaled and then exhaled. The invisible dumb needle didn't disappear, but at least stopped spinning.

Why did you let me go that day? Tell me the truth. Please. I do need to know! he uttered at last, dead serious.

" Did I need any special reason for my actions? " Valjean, somewhat puzzled, shurugged his broad shoulders. "I'm not a murderer".

" I know. Understandable. But you didn't need to commit it yourself. It was sufficient to just not interfere.

"Was it?", Valjean smiled bitterly. "Perhaps, but then it would have been disgusting, in the eyes of God as well as in my own."

He recognized his old nemesis from afar, due to the inspector's trademark rigid stature ("Does he wear a corset? Looks as if he's swallowed a pole!"), and now was studiyng his figure closer. Almost hasn't changed in ten years, Valjean thought, as if the man has been preserved in a barrel. How old can he be, he mused; a minute later remembering Javert's age being about fifty or so. At that age men were still considered eligible bachelors, at least by mothers of marrigeable young ladies. He suddenly imagined Javert as a bridegroom and nearly choked. But then, looking at the man more attentively, he realised that some chages did take place during the past decade: before Javert used to be in good physical shape, without any extra weight to lose; now he was outright gaunt and looked far from healthy. However, no one would dare to call him old, only mature.

" I have resigned, you know," Javert suddenly said, after a long pause, pretending to be watching something in the waters.

" What?" Valjean thought he had misheard the man. "Javert" and "resignation" just didin't go together, like "Javert" and "marriage". It just didn't feel right. "But why?!"

" I _have_ commited a crime against my professional vows", was a somewhat muffled answer. The former inspector still didn't looked him in the eye. "But you have nothing to worry about; officially I got resigned for quite a different reason".

Jean Valjean felt as if he had just hit the wall by his head. Never in all those years he gave a thought to what Javert could be feeling; it just never occurred to him the inspector could _feel_ anything at all. He truly believed Javert to be a sort of walking machine; and what could be more useless that to grudge any ill will, hatred or loathing, towards the mechanism made of steel, even if you got accidentaly hurt by it? It was only now that Valjean started to guess about the complicated choice Javert had to make; about the man's doubts and suffering going along with that choice, and he suddenly felt a wave of compassion towards his old opponent. Moreover, Valjean mused that the world wouldn't be complete without that odd, unfathomable man that now stood near him; and, should Javert perish, his place on Earth would stay void, because no other person like him could ever exist.

He looked at Javert again, and the former inspector seemed to him tired, dejected and very lonely.

"So , it was all because of me?…" Valjean murmured with a guilty look. " But I never thought it would turn out like that…I could never imagine…"

Javert glanced at him with a weary reproach in his eyes.

" If I had acted differently, I would have been pathetic."

"How are you doing now?" Valjean asked after a short silence.

" Nothing good to speak about", was Javert's indifferent answer, as if he was speaking about someone of no importance to him. "Disgusting. I can no longer be what I should be."

"And why, pray, do you believe it's your right to decide what you should be?", retorted Valjean. "Perhaps, God has judged otherwise."

" I thought you hated me," Javert suddenly said.

"I don't even really know you" , Valjean nearly answered but stayed silent. It dawned on him that in fact, he truly knew next to nothing about Javert, not even his Christian name.

"What for?" he said quietly instead. " I respect you. I always did."

Javert's gaunt face turned stony. Never having been handsome in his life, now he looked able to scare off the most impertinent of Parisian street urchins. However, his dour appearance barely hid his dejection and feeling of being lost. He would weep now if he could.

"How does it feel – to become another person?" , he asked Valjean in a clipped tone, still not looking up.

"Not easy", Valjean answered. " Like the skin peeling off after a bad burn. "

He wasn't good at expressing his compassion in words. Action was more his style. Besides, this was too important a subject to be spoken of in an incoherent manner.

" One thing I know for sure", he finally concluded. " God looks upon us differently, unlike mortals, and He has a different measure of justice. "

Javert gave hime a silent look; in a dim light of a streetlamp his eyes struck Valjean as those of someone seriously ill. Suddenly he lost his balance and started to fall down, but Valjean managed to support him and to bring back to a standing position.

"What the deuce is happening to you? Are you having a fit?!" , he demanded in a frightened voice.

" It's nothing…", Javert hoarsely exhaled, "It will be over soon".

The attack was really a short one, he has only to endure a little, and he was an expert in enduring. However, every attack could as well turn out to be the last one, and this thought made Javert anxious, when he imagined Valjean having to explain himself to police with his, Javert's dead body in his arms. Really , of all days to come here….!

….Jean Valjean was already in his sixties, but still strong enough to fight a bear with his bare hands. So he carried Javert to the cab all by himself .("Like a fainted damsel", Javert thought with disgust). The pain has subsided, but the tremendous fatigue again, as last time, prevailed upon him. "Where the hell he is taking me? I never gave him my address!",Javert mused, but the mere thought of returning to his rented flat, where no one was waiting for him, made him feel sick.

….The doctor , a very young man (perhaps just out of college, whose beard and thin moustache looked grotesque on the boyish face), seemed serious and concerned.

"What is your verdict?" Valjean asked him in a whisper, having closed the doors of the living-room, so that Javert wouldn't be able to overhear.

"Well, what can I say? Your friend has got a heart disease. What does he do for living?"

"He is a policeman"

"I see…Unfortunately, people of his profession seldom live long…"

"He is retired" , Valjean added just in case.

"That's good for him", the doctor distractedly muttered, then suddenly asked : "Have you got any knowledge of medecine?"

"None", Valjean answered honestly.

" In this case, I'll speak plainly. In order to survive, he needs to _want to live. _Do you understand me? Peace in his soul – that's what he needs most of all. Do remember it."

Having seen the doctor out, Valjean returned to the living-room. Javert was fast asleep in a half-lying position in the vast armchair; his mouth in a thin line, a deep crease between his eyebrows.

" Peace in the soul" ….looks hardly like he's got it just now….my living cross !…", Valjean sighed, adjusting the blanket over the former inspector.


End file.
